


Time to Reflect

by corvusdraconis, Dragon_and_the_Rose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-15 11:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15412020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvusdraconis/pseuds/corvusdraconis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_the_Rose/pseuds/Dragon_and_the_Rose
Summary: [HG/SS] AU, EWE, NC: In a world where Harry and Ron made the decision to escape Malfoy Manor and leave Hermione to Bellatrix Lestrange's mercy, Severus Snape gave her a life and death decision on the doorstep of death. They escaped Britain together after the war, but now Harry Potter has a problem he needs her for because he's tried everything else.





	1. Chapter 1

****

**A/N:**  Somehow, my beta can find me no matter where I'm hiding. She is one scarily efficient individual. I've been sick as a dog with the stomach flu or food poisoning. Not quite sure which yet. Life likes to kick you when you're down. Doesn't help I also have a possible torn rotator cuff I need to get checked out whenever I stop trying to empty my stomach by force. GLORIOUS!

 **Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Flyby Commander Shepard, and Hollowg1rl

 **Warnings:** Not canon. Not even close. Violence. Blood. Evil. So far no Cthulhu, but who knows, the night is young.

* * *

**Time to Reflect**

A Short Story by Corvus Draconis

_No one deserves to be hurt, no one deserves to be betrayed._

_What comes around goes around, be careful with your ways._

Dr Anil Kumar Sinha

Harry James Potter, father of three, the Man-Who-Triumphed, hero of the Wizarding World, and bonafide Wizard-Who-Could-Do-No-Wrong, had a problem.

It was a  _big_ problem— the kind of thing Luna would call an act of kharmatic integrity degradation or some other such airy-fairy strangeness.

Harry, on the other hand, called it an unwelcome disruption to his family life.

The end of the Wizarding War had come with him as the much-lauded hero. Ron, too, had built a fine life for himself on his reputation as the loyal sidekick of the saviour of the magical world.

Luna and Neville warned them that their victory might come with a heavy price tag, but Harry and Ron had over thirty years of nothing but success, multiple victories in law changes in the Ministry for Magic, and an entire Quidditch team of fine children between them.

Meanwhile, Luna and Neville had had two daughters, Xanthe and Anemone, and Anemone, the younger of the two, had been very weak and sickly for quite a few years. Many had thought that she would die. So obviously they were the ones in kharmatic degradation whatever, not him.

Then, when some bounty hunter group had gotten wind of the fact that they supported vampires, their house had gone up in flames. How's that for kharma, right? Harry firmly believed that the Longbottoms were the ones in the wrong, certainly not himself and Ron.

But when some person had sent his wife a "thank you" for her not-so-flattering portrayal in a sports article— Ginny had become terribly sick.

 _Very_ sick.

Nothing seemed to cure it.

No one seemed to know anything about it.

She'd miscarried their fourth child— another son— and had nearly died in the process.

To keep her from dying, he'd had to pull some strings and get Hagrid involved, making his case with the forest unicorns to acquire willingly given unicorn blood—

It had worked, for a while at least, but almost a year after, the agonising symptoms had returned with a vengeance.

When he tried to seek out the unicorns for more, Hagrid had shaken his head sadly, telling him that the blood had to be willingly given, and the unicorns seemed to think that Harry had been trying to hide something about the  _real_ reason his wife was so ill and needed their blood.

Harry, absolutely desperate to save his beloved Ginny, dove deeply into research in the bowels of the Auror record department. He read until his eyes burned and almost shut by themselves. He read until the tallow candles tried to set him on fire, burned all the way down to their wicks.

Everything seemed to involve the blood of some magical creature— and just like with the unicorns, it had to be  _willingly_ given.

Blood of a kirin apparently turned the drinker into a kirin and wiped out all human memories. No, not what he wanted.

Eating the flesh of a mermaid made you immortal but also turned you into a flesh-eating water demon that had to consume mermaid flesh regularly or else age rapidly and  _die—_ no thanks.

Cinnabar had this nasty habit of killing you. Nope.

Gilgamesh had apparently lost the plant of immortality to a snake. No luck there.

Immortality wasn't quite what he wanted, however. He just wanted something to cure his wife's disease.

Still— if he could be immortal along with Ginny, that wouldn't be so bad.

The Golden Apples of Idunn had turned out to be a magical apple raised in Scandinavia, the old cradle of the Norse, and it helped with many a dread disease, but not Ginny's.

The fabled ambrosia of the gods lead him to a divine-tasting holy elixir that helped Ginny for all of one day and then she was back to suffering.

Meanwhile, Harry's connections and vaults were running low.

All the healers could tell him was that Ginny was suffering from some sort of ancient magical disease that hadn't been seen in centuries and which they had very little information about, much less anything about a possible cure. In short, healers at St Mungo's had their work cut out for them in trying to devise a treatment to help Ginny hold on while Harry continued to search for a way to save his wife's life.

Harry was willing to pay anyone almost anything to find the information he so desperately needed, but they all just shook their heads. The information, they said, was most likely passed via word of mouth from master to apprentice— not the sort of thing they would ever write down.

Harry wasn't taking no for an answer though— if the healers wouldn't or couldn't find it, surely someone else would.

And eventually they  _did_ —he and Ronald had actually managed to find it themselves, buried deep within the goblin vaults, and unsealed thanks to an absolutely determined Harry levying considerable political pressure on the goblins

The blood of an immortal would cure any and all disease.

It seemed that the one with the least possible side effects was the most difficult to find after he and Ron had ensured that their aggressive new anti-vampire laws were enforced to the letter. Kill on sight, absolutely no repercussions. Make the nights safer for them all, or so they had claimed.

No one had connected the anti-vampire legislation to the fact that Harry and Ron would both rather not have certain  _specific_ vampires living in Britain.

Vampires that knew— certain secrets that they'd rather keep buried, as it were.

Harry had managed to find a meager cloud of vampires living in the Muggle areas of London, and he'd captured one, bled it, and then destroyed it, taking the blood to Ginny. It hadn't even lasted a minute after the vampire expired—

So, the next one, well, he'd brought the blood to her under a stasis charm.

It did nothing.

Convinced he just hadn't done something right, he and Ron next brought in a live specimen, having made sure Molly was at home with the grandchildren that evening instead of visiting the hospital like she normally did. They'd held the vampire under Imperius, forced it to slash open its wrist and then feed the blood to Ginny.

That had worked for about an hour— and then less, and then less, and even less than that until nothing at all seemed to help her at all.

When the vampires finally realised that something or some _one_  was actively preying on them, they immediately relocated, disappearing as surely as the long-extinct dinosaurs.

Even worse— the vampire blood seemed to cancel out whatever remaining boon the unicorn blood had given. Ginny was becoming even sicker, and Molly Weasley was at her wits' end.

Finally, Ron and Harry devised one last plan to save Ginny—

The one person who had an in with the greatest potions master the magical world had ever known—

There was just that tiny, itty bitty piece of ugly personal history that he dearly hoped wouldn't ruin it all.

* * *

"Miiiister. Potter." Snape's voice was full-on scathing and simmering with disgust. "What brings you to our small corner of the world?"

The sun had just set, and a flurry of ordinary bats had flown out the entrance to the cave to forage. Snape, however, stood at the entrance to the cave's mouth looking as intimidating as ever.

"You don't scare me, Snape," Ron blurted suddenly, holding his wand out in front of him.

"Then why is your arm shaking so much, Mr Weasley?" Snape hissed, his fangs flashing with not even a token effort to conceal them.

Ron grit his teeth together, looking like he was going to cast a spell.

"No, Ron!" Harry hissed. "That's not why we're here!"

"Do tell," Snape said, his voice both velvet and venom. "Why are you here? Use that last strand of my mate's hair to find our new hide-away? Not quite content to drive us out of Britain while you sat on the throne of heroism as the Man-Who-Saved-the-World?"

Snape's robes fluttered, and Harry abruptly realised that they were wings— giant bat-like wings that hung about his body as a leathery cape of endless black.

"We're here to see Hermione," Harry announced. "We need to speak with her."

"Three decades later?" Snape asked, with a curl of his lip. "No card, no owl, not even a Patronus— only miles upon miles of the Prophet proclaiming your streets to be oh-so-safe from the big bad vampires. Did your precious little wife know of your lies, the two golden boys? Did she encourage your lies in favour of the fame and glory?"

"That's not why we're here!"

"Then  _do_ tell me," Snape sneered. "Why are you here?"

"I'm trying to save a life!" Harry answered.

Snape's mouth curved in a parody of a smile. "I don't see you as the type to come here, wasting the last hair you stole from my beloved mate's head to save the life of a child or some other incredibly deserving individual," Snape said. "Who then? Is Mr Weasley dying of syphilis? Please tell me that he is."

" _ **Why you fucking bastard!"**_ Ron yelled, starting to cast a spell.

Harry grabbed his wrist and squeezed hard, giving his best mate the eye. "Ron, you are not helping here!"

"Oh, but he's  _always_ helping, isn't he, Harry?" a female voice said as a honey-coloured she-bat landed upside down from the cave entrance and greeted her mate with a very deep, expressive kiss— a kiss that transferred blood from her previous meal to her mate, bat-style.

Snape licked his mouth afterwards, his yellowed fangs bared.

The she-bat hopped down, feet flipping around to land, and she folded her wings around herself as her muzzle faded into a human facade— if one skillfully ignored the large funnel ears and ivory fangs.

"I have yet to thank you properly, Harry, Ron, for abandoning me to the tender mercies of the Dark Lord and his minions. The continued torture under Bellatrix' wand was— remarkably liberating with regard to some troublesome ethical quandaries." Hermione's expression was anything but kind. "I  _do_ hope your victory was very sweet indeed, and well worth every betrayal."

"We're trying to save a life here, Hermione," Harry insisted.

For a moment, Hermione's face softened, but then her golden eyes narrowed in suspicion. " _Whose_ life?"

Harry carefully avoided eye contact. "It's Ginny. She's really sick."

"And where was your oh-so-generous bleeding heart when you threw me under the bus, hrm?" Hermione asked, her eyes glowing eerily in the dark.

"Hermione! For Merlin's sake, Ginny was your best friend—" Ron blurted.

"Who so kindly sent me a long letter detailing how she knew exactly what you two had done to me and that she didn't care one whit. She was so glad that I was out of your lives for good this time. She had Harry back, and had him all to herself, and she was going to be famous, wealthy, pregnant, and happy. She made it quite clear that she didn't need me anymore."

Ron hissed at Harry. "I  _told_ you to make sure Ginny didn't sent her anything—"

"And she always listens, doesn't she, Ronald?" Hermione said, her fangs glinting. "You were so terribly angry that I'd trusted 'that evil greasy git Snape' and dared to apprentice with him behind your backs that you decided to have your revenge and get rid of me in the most final way possible, sacrificing my life so that you could escape Malfoy Manor. Only, you didn't quite count on Severus finding my brutalised body in time to save me from the very brink of death. So to speak, that is."

Hermione's fangs flashed. "I suppose the alternative was a bit less appealing. And, had I not been Turned, I'd never have gotten to feast on my own torturer, and you would never have gotten into dear Bellatrix' vault unchallenged, would you, hrm? Voldemort wouldn't have been so unhinged by the death of his keystone, his loyal paramour— the only one he trusted enough to be his ultimate living Horcrux: the one to bind them all together. I'm sure that didn't bother you at  _all_ , did it, eh, Harry?"

" _ **Please**_ , Hermione, this is  _ **Ginny!**_ You're  _ **not**_ a murderer!"

Hermione's solemn gaze settled on Harry. "You made me a murderess, Harry, just as surely as if your fangs sank into my throat."

"Just some of your blood, Hermione. Just enough to cure her and I  _ **swear**_ we'll be gone. Forever. I swear it on my magic, on my life. Please, Hermione?"

Hermione's golden gaze pierced into Ron.

Harry jabbed him sharply in the chest. "Swear Ron, damn it!"

Ron, reluctantly, swore the wand oath along with Harry.

Hermione gave Snape a look, and he handed her a crystal vial.

Hermione bit her wrist and let the crimson blood drip into a crystal vial before she carefully stoppered it and held it out.

Harry snatched it quickly before it disappeared.

"Oh, and Harry?"

Harry looked at her wide-eyed, so terribly eager to rush back to Ginny that he only listened with half an ear to Hermione as she said, "It won't work if there is any other outside blood in her system."

"Mixing magical bloods is  _never_ recommended, Potter," Snape added darkly.

Harry just nodded frantically as he grasped the vial, certain that he now held Ginny's cure in the palm of his hand.

"Do you have any questions, Harry?" Hermione asked quietly. "As this will be the last time you will ever be able to come and see me— now that you and Ronald both are under Oath."

Harry shook his head. "This will cure  _any_ disease or affliction?"

Hermione's eerie eyes flashed. "It will, provided it is not mixed."

Harry nodded rapidly.

As the crack of Harry and Ron's Apparition sounded off, Severus wrapped his wing around his mate and hissed softly, pressing his teeth to her neck with affection as his tongue slithered out to gently glide across her skin. "You know they will not listen to the instructions, even instructions so plainly laid out."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "You are quite correct, my most astute husband."

"Whatever she turns into— it  _won't_ be human— and she won't likely be happy to see them."

"No sympathy for old friends?" Severus leveled his gaze at her.

"Any understanding I may have had expired when I got that letter and my two supposed best mates created laws to make killing me perfectly legal," Hermione said. "Suddenly the warm, welcoming family wanted me dead. Somehow, the sin of having apprenticed with you was more of a betrayal despite the fact it saved our lives so many times. Somehow— even with the memories you gave Harry—he still didn't bother to correct anyone about the notion that he and Ron were heroes. He didn't stand up against Ron when he accused me of being a monster. He even tried to have our child killed for being "an unnatural horror"."

"Who's an unnatural horror, Mum?" a lithe vampire she-bat asked as she dangled from the cave's mouth.

"Why, we are, my darling," Hermione said. "If rumour is to be believed."

"Oh, well, better an unnatural horror than a natural one," she said, shrugging. She hopped down and wing-embraced her parents.

"Thea, is your homework done?" Severus asked, brows furrowing.

Thea gave her father a cheeky fanged grin. "Of course, father."

"You know, we  _do_ defy the rules of most vampires," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Vampires do not have children, if you believe the books."

"And have I not admonished you about taking gospel truth from the written word, hrm?"

Hermione smiled at him, all fang. "I'm not quite as bad as I used to be. Let's see— effective immortality.  _Check_. Nocturnal proclivities.  _Check_."

"Spontaneous combustion in sunlight?"

"Don't be silly, father," Thea said, frowning. "Sometimes I  _like_ watching the sun rise."

"You also took two whole decades to get out of your adorably fluffy batling stage," Snape said, scowling.

Thea beamed cheekily. "Not my fault that my parents are ageless and still managed to have me. I'm thoroughly enjoying my childhood."

Snape sniffed. "All three decades of it."

Thea gave him a snuggle and a chittering lick on the jaw. "Love you, father."

"Hn," Severus replied. "Don't you have a baby brother to pin down and groom?"

Thea gave her father one more lick on the muzzle and then flew deeper into the cave as a warm rush of magic signalled her passing into their "home" that was so stealthily hidden amongst the domain of ordinary, garden-variety bats.

"She spoils Talon silly," Hermione chuckled softly.

Severus nuzzled her. "Trust me when I say that his childhood is everything mine was not, and that is definitely not a bad thing."

"And the long, insufferable childhood?"

Snape tilted his head. "It only happens once. Why not enjoy it while it lasts?"

Hermione snuggled into him. "I love you."

"Do you, now?"

"Mmhmm."

"According to some, I must have dosed you with an unforgivable potion to enslave you to my cause."

"Consider me quite happily enslaved," Hermione said warmly. "Mind you, things seemed much grimmer back when it felt like I had no choice in the matter, but I choose this now. This is  _my_ choice." She gazed at him fondly. "But do not think I would not have still made the choice to be with you, after all was said and done."

"Hey, Uncle Shevruss," a small voice said as a tiny tug on his wing exposed a small toddler with blonde over blonde curls.

"Hello, Anemone," Severus said, eyebrows raised. "Have you managed to lose both your mother and your father again?"

The little girl grinned, showing off a lost tooth. "Yes!"

"There you are, Anemone," Luna said, giving her offspring the patented motherly stare. "What have I told you about wandering off, hrm? Someone could see you, and they might be Muggles or worse, wizards or witches."

The little girl frowned. "I'm not afraid of humans."

Snape gently nudged her. "One should always be cautious when it comes to humans, little one."

"But auntie and uncle don't fear anything!"

"We fear many things, my dear," he corrected her. "We simply work around it."

Anemone pouted. "Mummy says you're very brave."

"And they are," Luna said calmly. "But being brave does not mean being oblivious to danger."

"I'm not obwivious," the child pouted, her bottom lip sticking out.

Severus had a honeycrisp apple held in one wing spur, and the excited child squeed with happiness, snatched it, and ran back into the cave at full tilt.

Luna sighed. "She has way too many Grindlepoofs in her head at this age."

Severus and Hermione exchanged glances.

"Oh, don't be like that," Luna chided them. "You had them at her age too."

Hermione puckered her lips, the expression made a little strange by her fangs. "I must go," she said after a while. "I need to make sure the wards are up to full strength on mum and dad's place before a little diversion to certain old haunts."

Severus gave her a look.

"I will be careful," she promised, rubbing one wing against his.

Severus gave her a curt nod, his worry carefully hidden behind his umbral gaze.

Hermione rubbed one cheek against his, spread her wings, and launched into the air, disappearing with a crack.

"You needn't worry," Luna said casually. "Kharma is long overdue in this case, but it does always manage to find a way."

Snape tilted his head, silent.

"I think tea sounds wonderful," Luna said, heading back into the cave. "Well, as long as Neville isn't making it. I love him dearly, but he just can't shake the Zunduwisks around heated water."

Snape wrinkled his nose.

"I'm sure you're still wondering why you saved our lives that day," Luna said randomly, "but I find I'm rather glad you did. I have so much more time to search for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and I don't have to worry that I'm going to die long before it happens. Mind you, very few people would fancy being burned alive in their own home, so I'd imagine you thought it wasn't very sporting to let them succeed. On the bright side, I make a fabulous pot of tea, and I do like to share."

Luna skipped away into the cave, her pale, cream-coloured wings drifting behind her in a way that seemed far more whimsical than Snape's standard of intimidation cubed.

Snape licked his fangs. Only Luna and Neville could somehow Turn as a vampire and end up preferring vegetable 'blood' over mammalian plasma. Thankfully, there were not vampiric vegetable victims out there— thank the gods for that.

It was probably well and good considering Neville didn't like the sight of blood at all, having passed out a few times when either Severus or Hermione gave their batlings their blood-meals.

Their spawn, however, couldn't help but point out that the standard vegetable blood concoctions Neville had made for his family (when mixed with beet and tomato) looked eerily like real blood. Neville had plugged his ears (quite comical considering their size and shape) and proceeded to sing loudly, "La-la-la, I can't hear you, la-la-la!"

The irony that the Snapes shared a large cave residence with the Longbottoms, of all people, and their friendship was as thick as clotted cream.

Still ripe with the usual odd Luna-isms, but thick nonetheless.

As Snape followed Luna into their cave abode, he caught one pesky little batling who was trying to escape into the night without his sister. The batling pouted as he dragged him in a wing embrace back into the cave.

Parenthood.

Sheesh.

* * *

Hermione arrived at the Burrow just in time to see Ronald and Harry deliver the "cure" to their beloved Ginny— wasting no time in asking important questions.

The old Hermione, she realised, would have rushed in and demanded they pay attention, but that Hermione had died the night her former master had given her the choice of evils: live as a vampire or die as the Dark Lord expected. She had chosen life.

Her first few months had been a blur of hunger and need, and her first vicw, ironically, had been her torturer: Bellatrix Lestrange. She had fallen upon the witch like a starved, rabid animal, caring not for the danger or previous pain by her hand. She had slashed open her neck with her elongated wing spur and then lapped the crimson up until there was nothing left.

Bellatrix' face was frozen in utter disbelief in death— and none had suspected vampire because vampires sank their fangs into necks.

Hermione, however, had been far too hungry to use her fangs nor even realise who she had just eaten. Had it not been for Severus as a trusted figure, former master, and sire to pull her from the blood hunger— she would have become less than a beast that had no drive but hunger and no ability to know when that hunger was sated.

And there was the irony—

In driving out the older and more experienced vampires, all that were left were the young and inexperienced. Those were easily rounded up and murdered— and then there was no one left to guide the newly Turned.

The vampires that remained in Britain were young and had no guides, often feral or close to it. They were beasts or less than beasts, serving only their savage hungers and never regaining that part of themselves that was an intelligent, rational being.

The wise among them had soon left Britain behind— not that British wizardkind realised exactly what that would mean for them. Other countries that still kept with the old ways scoffed at Britain for their foolish, idiotic, short-sighted laws (at least in their opinion) that destroyed the delicate balance between day and night, diurnal and nocturnal.

It had taken a year, perhaps a bit more, for Hermione to feel like herself again, slightly longer to feel like she could be herself after her body had twisted and transformed into that of a giant bat-thing— the mark of Severus' lineage. There were vampires that were far more fair of face, but if Hermione's ability to literally tear apart her adversaries, threats, and bounty hunters was any sort of proof—

Well, she  _was_ reborn as a survivalist.

Perhaps, she was always one.

Then again, Anemone and Xanthe, Luna and Neville's children, thought both she and Severus were positively huggable— and who could say no to such insufferably cute batlings?

Their batlings thought humans were ugly. No fangs, no fur, no wings— completely unattractive.

Hermione and Severus hadn't taught them that— but that was what they believed.

Hermione thought Severus was absolutely sexy. She loved the points of his yellowed fangs— a colour that would have her dentist parents diving for the tooth bleach. His ribbed ears with those cute little tufts.

Was she panting?

Hermione shivered.

Trust had ultimately been what saved her. Her trust in her one-time master that he would never hurt her, that he would be there to guide her just as he always had.

Without that powerful bond of trust— bad things happened. Vampires invariably went feral, both in the mind and in the body. They became less than what they were mentally and more than what they had been physically. The trade-off, however, was hardly equal in the end.

Odd eating habits aside, there was an unforeseen advantage to having vampires around. The crime rate was dropping rather dramatically in New Zealand— not because they were killing them but because rolling the minds of their prey allowed them to both feed without the obnoxious screaming but also to plant suggestions like, oh, phobias to any and all criminal practices. A trigger-happy gun lover would suddenly have a strong fear of bullets, shells, and all other exploding projectiles. A knife user would suddenly have a great fear of metal blades of any kind.

Severus had narrowed his eyes at her when there was a strangely dramatic rise in wooden and plastic cutlery purchases in New Zealand, to which Hermione could only give him her biggest and best fanged smile.

It wasn't to say that the criminal element couldn't find a way around such suggestions, but it only put them on the radar for lunch, supper, or midnight snack and a new round of improved suggestions— like taking up Arctic ice fishing, basket-weaving, knitting, cleaning litter from public areas, volunteering at homeless shelters, soup-kitchens, and helping the elderly and infirm.

Their daughter had suggested to one particular snack that he should paint over the graffiti on one building only to have forgotten to specify a place— the "poor" bloke had spent over a month painting over unwanted tags all over Christchurch alone.

Who knew it had been such a prevalent problem?

Severus had  _no_ idea.

Hermione figured graffiti was everywhere— oh well.

Back to the issue at hand, erm, wing.

Ginny Potter was being given a rather unique tonic to help her condition— and Hermione could easily smell that there was more than one different kind of blood in her system.

Vampire bat, thank you very much. The nose knows.

They hadn't even asked anyone if someone  _ELSE_ had tried anything new to help her. No, they simply assumed that they had been the only ones so clever, so devoted.

As Ginny's colour began to improve, Charlie Weasley came in with Bill, cheering that Ginny looked much better and that the fresh donation of unicorn blood they had acquired was most definitely working this time, despite Bill's earlier doubts.

"Excellent, the unicorn blood worked! I told you, Bill!" Charlie cheered. "See, my lack of interest in pretty witches was a real boon for us!"

"We should get her back to Mungo's to make sure she's okay," Bill said decisively.

"No!" Harry snapped. "She's going to be fine. Look, Ginny's already looking better than she has in well over a year. Just let her rest, yeah?"

Bill frowned at his brother-in-law. "Harry, I really think—"

"She's  _fine_ , Bill!" Ron butted in, attending at Ginny's side and taking her hand. "Everything is going to be fine."

Bill looked to Fleur, who was eyeing a crimson lipped rim of the cup on the nightstand.

Fleur swore fluently in rapid-fire French, and Bill nodded to his wife, trying to hide his growing alarm.

"Come on, Charlie," he said. "You can visit our place and spoil the nieces and nephews for awhile. We'll leave Ginny to her husband and our baby brother for now."

Charlie frowned, puzzled. "Hey, little sis, are you feeling okay?"

Ginny, her cheeks practically rosy, smiled up at him. "I haven't felt this good in  _forever_."

Charlie gave Bill another look, and scrunched his eyebrows in confusion when Bill gave him a look that said he needed to leave—  _now_.

"Well, you take good care of my little sis," Charlie said, feigning cheerfulness.

Bill, Charlie, and Fleur exited the room quietly.

Harry enthusiastically embraced his wife. "I'm so glad you're going to be okay, Gin!"

Ginny hugged him tightly. "I'm so hungry, I could eat a whole hippogriff with a double order of chips."

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. "Let's just start with a bit of your mum's egg and potato casserole, yeah?"

They were so busy smothering Ginny with love that they didn't notice a familiar shadow dangling by her feet from the huge oak tree in the garden, nor did they notice the strangely  _hungry_ look that Ginny was giving them.

* * *

One large roast beef, two slabs of bacon, a whole potato and egg casserole, an entire pitcher of milk, a sack of oranges, and the entire bowl of buttered sprouts later, Ginny was still hungry.

At first she had distracted herself with lots of vigorous sex, making Harry think it was the most wonderful time of his life, but the ferocious hunger didn't ever seem to ease. At first she thought she was just thirsty until she drank all of Lily's pumpkin juice— an entire  _barrel—_ right down to the bare wood.

She'd polished off the entire bowl of tuna salad, even drank the condiments, and then she started working on all the foodstuffs in the pantry. Nothing seemed to ease the painful gnawing in her stomach. She had a splitting headache to boot, and no potion was helping.

When a chilling shiver went down her spine, she looked up, her face all stained with blueberry juice, to see a honey and black bat-thing clinging to the Burrow's ceiling.

"Feeling a bit… peckish, Ginevra?" Hermione asked, her funnelled ears twitching.

" _ **YOU!"**_

"Me." Hermione answered.

" _ **You**_  did this to me!"

"No, I can assure you, I did not. Had I done it, you would never have survived the bite," she said. "I tend to— lose control when my emotions are involved, and there are so many unpleasant emotions involved with you. Besides, you didn't exactly wake up buried under the earth after a transition, now did you? Scraping at the earth frantically, thinking you were going to suffocate, not realising that you can't possibly suffocate when you don't  _breathe_. When all you know is the gnawing, burning hunger, deep in your bones, and you desperately want to feed on the one that you have the strongest emotional ties to. But I knew exactly what I wanted when I awoke," Hermione said. "Blood. You don't seem to know quite what you want, do you, hrm?"

Ginny's eyes were filled with hunger, their normal deep brown colour tinted with a strange yellow.

"You  _knew_ this would happen to me."

Hermione's muzzle wrinkled into a sardonic smile. "Yes, but it was not because I didn't warn Harry  _and_ Ron exactly what not to do with your cure."

"What warning!" Ginny demanded.

"Willingly given vampire blood cures all ails— the key is that it must be  _willingly_ given. Seems your husband-love and youngest brother tried various other bloods to help you. Unwillingly and Imperioused, different species, long before they decided to come to me for help. You see," Hermione said, "I was their very last resort. The last and final evil they hadn't yet tried."

Ginny stared at her painfully. "Speak plainly, Hermione."

"Having problems with your higher brain function?" Hermione asked. "Such a pity."

She unfolded her wings and flipped down to land neatly on her feet.

"Vampire blood is a strange thing, Ginny. It's not like human blood anymore than blood is sand. What flows through us, despite what we eat, if a sort of wild magick. When used to Turn, there is a reason the Sire drinks the initiate's blood completely. There must be little to none left to make the transition easier— less painful, less fatal. Now, when used for healing, the blood must be given willingly, which I did if but for your children's sakes. But if you should have any other conflicting blood within your body of a magical nature when it is consumed, the two bloods would instantly go to war with each other. Now— say your older brother, Charlie, gave you some unicorn blood. That is blood of the purest animal of the light (and I do mean this literally as in daylight). My blood is the very elixir of the night—" Hermione smiled grimly. "Rude, really, classifying us as Dark, evil creatures to be killed on sight. I wonder, who could have done that?"

Hermione scratched one ear with a wing-spur. "Look. I'm not a homewrecker," she said. "There is one solution to your current predicament. You can be Turned by a vampire, or you can take your chances with whatever horrific thing all that mixed blood will do to you.  _Mixed_ magical blood, Ginevra, please don't put words in my mouth. Real magic blood, not some prejudiced pipe dream."

"You want me to drink  _ **BLOOD?!**_ " Ginny screeched, her eyes wide with horror.

Hermione's chuckle sounded strange coming through a muzzle. "What do you think you already drank? Tomato juice?"

Ginny started to hurl all over the floor in instinctive response.

Hermione shook her head. "Ginevra, do you think your brothers just gave you potions? That was blood that you drank. And fairly often, I would judge by your— unique odour."

Ginny glared at her.

"Oh, don't give me that look. I'm a vampire, Ginevra. I can  _smell_ blood." Hermione gave her the eye.

"Those are your choices," she said. "Try to deal with the results of whatever mixed blood cocktail you have going on or else agree to be Turned."

"By  _ **you!"**_  Ginevra hissed furiously.

"No, actually. You would have to be Turned by a vampire that is bonded to Britain as his home. Mine is no longer here due to being forsaken by my own homeland." Hermione leveled her gaze. "So sorry, I can't help you with that."

"I can't— I  _ **won't**_  be a blood sucker! I won't be hunted down and killed like some monster!"

Hermione used her wing thumb to comb back some of her thick mane of curls. "There are worse things."

" _ **Get the hell out of my house!"**_ Ginny screamed.

Hermione smiled then, and it wasn't kind. "This isn't your house, Ginevra. You cannot force me to leave it— however, since you are so determined to be stubborn, I will leave you with a parting gift."

Hermione put a flask of crimson liquid on the kitchen counter. "This is some of my blood. It will stave off the hunger for a time. Long enough to try and find someone to Sire you should you find yourself— slipping. But I warn you— wait  _too_ long and even it will not help you. Even vampires do not tolerate the uncontrolled amongst themselves. It endangers all of us and thus is not something they can afford or support."

Hermione's wing thumb tapped the flask. "Just remember, Ginevra. When  _ **I**_ most needed a friend, you and my best mates chose to cast me aside and leave me for dead. I'm offering you a safe way out— it is not an ideal way, but it  _will_ save your life and the lives of your family."

" _ **Get out! GET OUT! GGGEEETTTT OUT!"**_ Ginny screamed.

When Ginevra opened her eyes again— the kitchen was empty. Only a delicate flask remained on the counter— glistening with crimson red temptation.

Ginny tore open a huge watermelon and hastily devoured it, shoving her face into the broken pieces with a cry of pure despair.

* * *

_**Murders In Knockturn Alley Have Aurors Scrambling For Answers** _

_Head Auror Harry Potter is standing by his proclamation that who or whatever is picking off criminals in Knockturn Alley is not a rogue vampire. Vampires, which have been freely bounty-killed for the last few decades, are rumoured to be alive and well in Wizarding Britain (so to speak), but the old vampire hunters have long since dried up and gone out of business— millions of galleons having been paid out to line their coffers in "the good old times."_

_Frantic whispers have suggested that perhaps a demon is loose in Knockturn Alley— as all of the victims have been partially eaten._

" _I seen it for myself!" confided Nettie Adler, the owner of the Naughty Mermaid, a favoured Knockturn Alley pub. "I went out back to the rubbish bins and found old 'Dung lying out there starkers, with huge chunks of flesh missing off 'im!' The memory seemed a bit too much for Madam Adler, who abruptly turned green and lost her breakfast all over this reporter's new dragonhide boots._

_Known victims of this horrifying rash of brutal murders are: Mundungus Fletcher, Tyrus Payne, Gregory Goyle, Ardelia Sallow, Darius Dankworth and Edna Spinster._

_With the supposed end of vampiric activity in Wizarding Britain, many are turning to Head Auror, Harry Potter, to assure them that this was indeed true. In response, Auror Potter has asked us to remind everyone that vampires have no interest at all in consuming flesh, as blood is their only form of sustenance._

_Fearful murmurs of shock and disbelief in conjunction with a rising body count in Knockturn Alley has spread into the neighbouring Diagon Alley._

_Businesses in both Knockturn and Diagon Alley are suffering, and many of the shops are pleading with the Aurors to solve the situation before nobody, not even the workers, wants to come there._

* * *

When Harry came home after a long day of trying to track down the bloodthirsty monster that was terrorising Knockturn and Diagon Alley, he got a frantic Patronus from Ron. He Apparated to Ron's house in London and arrived to find a bloodbath. His children, home for holidays, were screaming and whimpering, having lost all coherent reason as they sat, bloodied and maimed, on the floor, cradling their wounded bodies. Ron was holding his arm shakily as blood trickled down it— a deep bite having taken out a chunk of his flesh.

" _ **Ron!**_  What the  _ **hell**_ happened here, mate?"

"It was Auntie Ginny!" Rory and Liza moaned from the floor. "She said she was hungry. We went to get her some food from the pantry and—"

"She went totally mental," Ron said, shuddering visibly at the memory. "Said she came here looking for Lavender. Then she tried to attack the children! I got off a few spells at her and she tried to take off my bloody arm— told me I just smelled  _too_ good. When she— took a big chunk out of my arm, she  _changed_ , mate. Physically, I mean. She looks—"

"Looks like  _what_ , Ron?"

"Got this ruddy long horn sticking out of her head and these bloody huge fangs, mate. Her hands were twisted into razor-sharp claws and her feet are hooves, Harry!".

"Wha—?" Harry stammered.

"Gin's a sodding demon-monster-thing, mate! My sister is a bloody  _ **monster!**_ "

"She  _ **can't**_ be a vampire!" Harry yelled. "She wasn't bitten first!"

"It  _ **wasn't**_ a vampire, Harry! She didn't look like that git Snape or even git-lover Hermione at all. She looked like— I dunno how else to describe what she looked like. It was  _ **bad**_ , Harry!"

Harry shook his head adamantly. "Not our Ginny. She would  _ **never**_ turn into a monster!"

"Yeah, well  _ **I**_  never thought Hermione would choose life with that greasy git instead of dying. Death would be better than living with  _ **HIM**_ , so apparently my sister can turn into a monster too! Can't trust girls at all!"

Liza, Ron's thirteen-year-old daughter, glowered darkly at him. "I'm telling mum that you're an arse-face, dad."

It was only then that Harry realised that Ron and the children were still bleeding, and he quickly set to work casting healing spells to help them out. He began to struggle when he realised the bleeding wasn't stopping. "We need to get you all to Mungo's now!" Harry said. He placed a hand on each child and gave Ron a glare. " _ **NOW!"**_

_**Crack!** _

Harry and the two children were gone.

* * *

_**Flesh-Eating Beast Contagion Spreading Chaos and Woe** _

_Fear and panic are spreading now that a strangely contagious curse of sorts has afflicted the victims of the mysterious beast that has been stalking Knockturn and Diagon Alley. The original beast has, fortunately, killed most of its unfortunate victims, but those who managed to survive the initial attack have started to undergo some rather disturbing transformations, throwing themselves at any and everyone to sate their ravenous hunger for human flesh._

_The description of the beast has varied somewhat, but a few descriptions remain essentially the same: it looks like a twisted vampiric unicorn and it eats human flesh rather than merely drinking blood._

_Master Healer Vincent Kale has discovered there is only one cure for the condition: vampire blood from a willing vampire blood donor who lives in the same homeland as the infecting beast. Unfortunately, due to the last few decades of persecution and remorseless bounty hunters, vampires in Great Britain are extremely scarce, and those that remain have no pity for those who forced them to live underground or else be killed on sight._

_Victims of the rampaging beasts are now demanding to know how such a horrific creature came to be, but the answers, so far, have been not been forthcoming._

* * *

_Memo_

_From: Arcturus Bandicoot, HBOY_

_To: Department of Mysteries_

_Sanguini has volunteered to donate some of his blood, but we can only take a few vials a week due to the way his particular species operates, so all of the minor children are being treated as we can, including those outside of the DoM. Adults, however, can only be treated if there is blood to spare, and there has been precious little to spare. We have been forced to limit to DoM agents who have been out there fighting the beasts in person. Everyone else should take care to avoid travelling at night unless absolutely necessary._

_Please be aware that our few contacts with the few remaining vampires must be kept absolutely confidential, as their lives depend upon us after that ridiculous bounty law. The pandemonium of late is only making things worse. Quarantine of all surviving victims upon identification is absolutely critical to avoid further spread of the beast contagion, folks._

_The cure will slow things down, but provided we keep our children safe until the source-beast is taken out. Hogwarts has offered take in the children whose parents have been infected, which definitely helps. I think we should be able to obtain enough donated British vampire blood to cure the parents— eventually. Until then, stay safe, and take care to keep your loved ones inside and well-protected, especially at night._

* * *

"Minerva, you are completely spoiling my children," Severus said as the elder witch cuddled in a winged embrace on the ceiling.

"Well  _someone_ has to spoil your children and be around to do so," Minerva said with a sniff, using one wing to scratch her silvered bat-bun that pulled away from her ears.

She jumped down from the ceiling and transformed into a silver tabby— a tabby with distinctively  _un_ -feline bat wings.

"Freak of nature, you are."

" _Pot, meet kettle,"_  Minerva meowed sweetly, beginning to groom herself.

Hermione nuzzled her mate. "You love her. You wouldn't have saved her life otherwise."

Severus huffed. "There is some irony that to save her life from those who despised her for being an open vampire sympathiser I had to Turn her, and yet  _some_ how she ends up as the world's only batcat."

Hermione grinned. "I think she's positively adorable."

Minerva purred.

The older and younger batlings hanging from the ceiling squeaked in fervent agreement.

Severus sighed. "I suppose you are both quite sufferable."

Hermione smiled, rub-squeaking against him. "Maybe after I was done getting over, well, everything."

Severus looked at her with a tilted head. "It was to be expected that adjustments would take time. You needn't feel as if such things took longer than it should."

Hermione sighed. "I know that— it's just— I felt like I should have had more control."

"More control after having been tortured by the most twisted, insane Dark witch on this side of the pond? After being transformed into a creature that craves life in a very literal sense?"

"It's debatable if she was considered living, Severus," Hermione said, licking her fangs. "Looking back, she tasted strongly of salt."

He eyed her. "Good thing you weren't going to die of a heart attack, hrm?"

Hermione fffted.

"Mummy? Why would you eat someone you didn't like the taste of?"

Hermione hugged her youngest batling to her and gave him a good grooming. "Unlike you, my darling, I wasn't born to the life. I was brought into it, incredibly hungry and very— well, irrational."

Her youngest didn't seem to understand completely, but he smiled up at her anyway. "I'm glad you're here, mummy."

Minerva mrowled. " _We all are, laddie."_

"Mum?"

"Yes, my love?"

"If you hadn't been Turned, you wouldn't have had us. Does that mean you didn't want us?"

"Nonsense," Hermione laughed. "Regardless of circumstance, I would  _always_ want you both."

The batlings chittered happily. "Phew!"

Hermione gave Severus a very private, knowing look, and his expression softened as he gazed upon her. "Do you truly mean that?"

Hermione gave him a look. "Of course I meant it."

A haunted look passed across his face, but then his clawed hand tenderly brushed against her muzzle. "You are something special."

"We knew that, daddy," their youngest crowed, pouncing on his back and clinging there. "Mummy is the  _best!"_

Hermione chuckled, nuzzled her mate and gave him a gentle lick before grooming her son's ears and head. He sputtered and wing slapped her playfully. Hermione looked up and saw the sunrise starting to drive their diminutive cavemates to retreat back into the cave. "Time to get ready for bed," she said. She snuggled them both before shooing them off to prepare for bed.

"Mum," Thea said.

"Hrm?"

"Is Britain going to be alright?"

"Eventually, love, yes."

"How do you know?"

"She's not Turned," she replied. "Eventually, her abused body is going to either give out trying to be both human and beast or else someone is going to stop her rampage. If they do, all those infected by her will revert. The head of the beast, they call it. Many legendary old curses ended when the first was taken out."

Thea pondered that for a while. "I doesn't sound like the science grandma and grandpa talk about."

"Alas, it is not, sweetling. Magical conditions are quite complicated. They are both infectious and curable— or not— depending on a great number of factors."

Thea shrugged. "But, if they hadn't left you to the one witch, you'd never have had us."

Thea sounded more worried, despite her earlier reassurance.

Hermione nuzzled her daughter. "Thea, believe me. I and your father would have found a way. You and Talon would have come along, all the same. May a little later, but it would have happened."

"You're sure?"

"I'm completely sure. Mind you, your father may have taken some convincing on his part."

Thea stared at her father, and he gave her an arched eyebrow. "You don't love, mummy? I mean.. Back then?"

"Very much," he said.

"Then why would you need convincing?"

Severus shook his head. "Life and love is complicated, daughter. You will understand in a few decades when you start attracting suitors that I don't immediately murder on sight."

"Severus!" Hermione exclaimed, laughing.

Talon popped his head in from brushing his fangs. "Daddy is going to murder someone? Can I watch?"

"No!" Severus and Hermione said together sternly.

"Aww," he muttered, going back to brushing his fangs.

Hermione gave Severus an amused look before shooing her daughter off to clean up for bed. The sounds of her splashing in the hot spring-waterfall mixed with her singing to herself came shortly after.

Severus' ear twitched at the sound of singing, wondering where she picked  _that_ up.

"Grandparents," Hermione said. "They introduced her to the wireless— and mum's fascination with popular musicals."

He sighed. "Grandparents are built for spoiling and introducing odd things. At least they are still around to do so. They are getting quite old for Muggle humans."

"The nutrition potions you made for them help, I think," Hermione said. "At least their health is outstanding."

Severus nodded. They deserve a long and healthy life and to be able to enjoy their grandchildren. However long that may be."

Hermione smiled. "I appreciate that you care enough."

He brushed her cheek. "It matters to you and the children, so it matters to me. It is not every lifetime you find two people willing to accept a magical daughter and then a magical daughter with a few dietary lifestyle changes with a chaser of odd physical transformations."

Hermione looked thoughtful. "They've always accepted the best and worst of me. Even when I recited the definition for words for the first few years—"

Severus snorted. "You're  _still_ reciting," he ribbed.

Hermione harrumphed and made a face, made all the more wrinkled by her bat muzzle and nose.

Severus lowered his muzzle to hers, giving her a gentle rub with his muzzle as he licked her ear fondly.

Hermione squeaked with pleasure and then grinned as the sounds of their spawn having a raucous splashing contest in the bath filled the abode they had crafted with both magic and love.

"I love you," she said.

Severus' face, which seemed even more severe in vampire bat appearance, softened at her words. "No regrets?"

"Nothing that kharma hasn't already taken care of," Hermione said with a calm smile. "No regrets. Not anymore."

He embraced her with his wings, pulling her close. "No more for us, my love. No regrets, only life. Only the moment. The here and the now. Our children and us, our sufferable friends, the family we have made for ourselves and those that refuse, despite all sense, to abandon us."

"I may not have realised it back then, Severus," Hermione said. "But you had instantly captured my mind with your first speech my first year. The heart took a bit more convincing, if only because you were so good at being a total git." She looked at him with a sly, mischievous smile.

"We all have certain things that we excel at," he replied with a smirk.

"Perhaps a demonstration is in order," Hermione said suggestively.

He arched a brow, and it twitched slightly. "Oh?"

"Of course— if you're not up to it—"

Severus bat-napped his mate and flew into the bowels of their domain to demonstrate exactly  _how_ much he excelled at a great many things.

* * *

Ginny hadn't had such a good night sleep in  _years_.

Ever since the "cure" she had healers poking and prodding her day in and out to make sure she wasn't reverting. She always had an Auror nearby watching her every move. She couldn't even take a ruddy shite without the damned Auror there to watch all because she'd slipped out just that  _one_ time…

She was allowed to go back "home" again, but home wasn't  _HER_  home. She was back at the Burrow, thoroughly warded into an isolated part of the house like the bloody ghoul in their attic.

Her parents— Molly especially— watched her like a hawk, never once leaving the house without putting up a great many high-powered security wards. While her father, once, almost, let her out on good behaviour, her mum came rampaging and drove him away from the wards and changed them to lock even him out.

Gods, her mum was so fucking paranoid.

It wasn't like it was  _her_ fault that she had attacked those people.

She was a good person! She had a life! A family!

Her mum just figured since they sold off almost everything they had to buy her access to the blood she needed for a cure that they had the  _right_ to keep her under duress.

Even her children treated her like some kind of pariah.

It was all Hermione's fault.

Hermione  _was_ British. Her blood  _should_ have cured her completely! Everything else she said was a trick— a dirty lie.

That wasn't blood at  _all_. It was some sick potion that evil git made for her to look like blood.

Ginny's thoughts focused on her former friend.

Hermione's fault.

Her.

_Her!_

_**HER!** _

She didn't even notice how her body had jerked to life, twisting, contorting into a terrifying shape that looked like a deranged, murderous unicorn with fangs. She threw herself repeatedly at the walls, the door, the window.

_**Blam!** _

_**BLAM!** _

Over and over. Over and over.

Molly and Arthur exchanged resigned and worried looks as they tended to their grandchildren.

Lily looked up to Molly and handed her a picture she had watercoloured. "Nanna, will my mum  _ever_ get better?"

"I hope so dear, but—" Molly anxiously peered out the picture window. "The laws have driven most of those who could possibly offer a cure out of Britain. Those that know she fully supported them being made— well, the cure doesn't look very easy to come by."

"Couldn't you just buy it?" Lily asked.

"We tried, dear," Molly said. "It's… complicated."

"But, I want my mum back! She took us out shopping! She took us to the best parties! You just sit at home and scowl at each other."

Arthur and Molly sighed together. "We simply cannot afford to go out to parties now, and your father is out there working really hard to make a good living for you and your brothers."

Lily wrinkled her nose. "It doesn't sound like a good living to me."

"A life when you have a loving family and a roof of your head and food on the table is not a bad living, young lady, and it's about time you stopped moping about thinking everything can be bought with lots of money."

"But Mum said—"

Molly gave the young witch a look that wasn't particularly friendly, and the young witch immediately clammed up, her eyes going very wide.

Arthur looked at Lily and sighed deeply. "There are some things you cannot understand without a certain amount of life experience, and this is one of them. There were events that put certain things into motion— and your mum, dad, and your uncle were a part of those terrible things a very long time ago."

"Now, your mum grew up with the best we could give her, but had a lot of years in-between your brothers and sisters to keep the career that she loved— the same career that gave you a lot of those wonderful things that you desire. The kind of life she wanted was not what she had as child, and she did a lot of things to make you think she'd never had to make any sacrifices in order to provide a better standard of living for you."

Lily stared down at her plate of "food" with obvious disgust— used to far "better" things than boiled sprouts, mashed turnips and meager offerings of meat. "Could we please have a salad?" she asked hopefully.

"Of course, dear," Molly said, quickly getting up to make one. She chopped the lettuce and vegetables neatly with her kitchen knife. She placed the salad in front of Lily, and the little witch frowned.

"Where are the dried cherries, candied walnuts and bleu cheese?"

Arthur sighed and stood up. "I think it's time to have a lesson."

"I'm not at Hogwarts right now, Grandfather."

"All the better reason to have a lesson," Arthur said. "Come, it's time you learned that food does not appear magically."

"But—"

" _Now."_

Lily frowned and stood up, following Arthur.

Molly quietly cleared the table as the pair left, and hours later, young Lily returned with a plump trout in a net. It wasn't terribly huge, but it could definitely feed a hungry mouth. Under her arm, she carried a basket of freshly picked salad greens from the Weasley family garden.

Lily shyly shuffled up to her. "Nana, could you teach me how to prepare the fish?"

Molly exchanged significant glances with Arthur. "Of course, child."

There were no more complaints from young Lily Euphemia Potter.

That night, she dined upon what she had caught herself and she finished every bit of her salad  _without_ cherries, walnuts and bleu cheese.

Come Sunday and every Sunday after that, whenever the grandchildren were home, Sunday became the official Weasley family fishing and fry-day.

* * *

_**Original Beast Vector Ginevra Molly Potter Escapes High-Security Wards Due to Son's Freak Burst of Accidental Magic** _

_Ginevra Potter, having been quarantined until recently after being identified as the original vector of the infamous Beast Plague of Britain, has escaped due to her son. Albus Potter's selfish (albeit accidental magic-induced) desire to have his mother back home again— the one thing no manner of ward can truly protect against due to its chaotic and random powerful emotion-fueled nature._

_The Weasley family is being hounded by the outraged wizarding public due to them having been permitted for any reason to hold such a dangerous individual in home quarantine instead of a more heavily-secured ward in St Mungo's or Azkaban after the chain of murders and subsequent infections that made the past depredations of notorious werewolf Fenrir Greyback look like a children's garden party._

_Despite protests that the children needed at least some contact with the mother, the Wizengamot has absolutely refused to allow her to be returned to the custody of her family following her eventual recapture, reasoning that the children could not be trusted not to free their mother yet again, accidentally or otherwise._

_Widespread suspicion that favouritism towards the family of Head Auror Harry Potter may have had a great deal to do with such previously unheard of leniency has made it extremely difficult for Auror Potter to concentrate on relocating the extremely dangerous escapee who also happens to be his wife of thirty years._

_Rumour has it that even the hit wizards are refusing to take on the case due to the high risk of being infected by Ginevra._

_All attempts to track Ginevra's current whereabouts have reportedly been met with dismal failure._

_Her son, after having released his mum, now suffers from the unwelcome realisation that his favoured parent has abandoned him, apparently without a thought. Many have written owls to the DMLE demanding that the teenaged wizard be labeled a delinquent and forced into public service so he might learn how he has destroyed countless lives with his selfishness, but the Wizengamot stands by the fact that accidental magic is just that. There is, they said, no child who remembers their loving parents who would not have wished exactly the same._

_Even so, it has been reported that the young wizard has been getting hate-spewing Howlers almost non-stop from all the victims of his mum and all those she had infected._

_At any rate, the DMLE asks all citizens of magical Britain to remain extra vigilant until Mrs Potter's recapture. All persons who believe they may have information regarding the current location or activities of Ginevra Molly Potter are encouraged to contact Head Auror Harry Potter immediately._

* * *

**A/N:** Being sick sucks. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. The next one should be relatively short and contain the story's conclusion, provided I don't come down with the plague. This was meant to be a one-shot detour to get stuff aligned in my head. It didn't quite work out— never does. Big thanks to The Dragon and the Rose for staying up past her expiry hour to beta this fic.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Being sick does two things. It makes you respect being well, even when you're feeling down while being well. It also makes you lose weight unintentionally… now if I could just do that intentionally. LOL.

 _Sigh_.

 **Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose

* * *

**Time to Reflect**

Chapter 2

_While seeking revenge, dig two graves - one for yourself._

Douglas Horton

John and Helen Granger, successful retired dentists, had a back garden filled with grandbats plus a few extra. Thea and Anemone were happily snuggled up to Mr Granger as he read from the Australian Dental Journal, and Xanthe and Talon were helping Mrs Granger prepare food for the evening snacks.

Had anyone heard, they'd have just thought the Grangers were entertaining happy children— albeit slightly well… squeaky children. Had anyone looked over the garden wall, they probably would have passed out in total shock.

Neither of the Grangers seemed to care that their grandkids were vampire bats, having heard the story of what had happened to their daughter and how Severus Snape had saved her life in the only way he could. They took it for what it was— a second chance to get to spend time with their daughter while the entire world wasn't being threatened. It had been her change that had allowed her to dispel the charm that had them convinced they were Mr and Mrs Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and like the intelligent, reasonable people they had always been, they had listened to the entire story of why their daughter had gone to such drastic lengths to protect them.

After learning what their daughter's supposed best friends had ultimately done to her to save their own skins, they didn't question whether Hermione had made the right decision— even though they  _did_ give her a little grief about having not at least asked first like a reasonable adult.

Even so, Mr and Mrs Granger began a long and fascinating journey into chiropterology and turned out to truly enjoy the fascinating field. Australia had quite a few bats in residence to study as well as their very own grandbats, and they took to it like they took to everything else they set their mind to— tenaciously.

Severus had really hit it off with John Granger, taking to the older man like a duck to water, appreciating his dry humour, sarcasm, and even his clever snark. He said it was from years of working with remarkably thick patients who wondered why their teeth were rotting away but didn't ever bother to brush their teeth— running around with food perpetually trapped between their molars. Severus had replied that if it was anything like working with children who were blithering dunderheads that tried to blow themselves and their fellows up quite often, well, maybe they were a bit more similar than he'd ever thought.

The two of them ended up sipping mugs of extra-strong Ceylon tea and munching on dark chocolate digestives, (their mutual favourites), sitting side-by-side with their feet up and watching footy games on the telly.

Hermione suspected that Severus  _really_ wanted to bring the Grangers "into the family" just to have someone he could— well, do all the usual man-things with.

Man.

Man-bat.

Vampire-man…

Well, what _ever_  it was they were together.

Neville was far too happily engaged in singing Muggle show tunes to his much-beloved greenhouse of exotic plant life, usually, and Severus was just happy that they managed to get along— shocking enough in itself.

The Grangers were lucky in that they had Hermione "young". Still, they were already into their seventies—

They were fit and healthy and looked only fifty at the most, but it would have to happen soon lest they be geriatric— forever.

It wasn't that the Grangers weren't prepared for that eventuality— but too many of the vampires had become very fond of them— having so few people they actually cared to have around.

Unlike any of them— the Grangers seemed to get along with everyone. None of their cloud of vampires could say that— except for the batlings. The batlings of course just lacked any experience in hatred and bigotry. That was something no one wanted them to experience until they were old enough to make sense of it. Old enough was relative. They were already "old" enough to be adults in the human world, but they were still batlings to them— young, insufferably adorable, and full of questions about the universe as well as more than wanting to visit the grandparents.

It gave the Grangers extra spoiling time in the grandparent department. Neither they nor the batlings were going to complain about  _that_.

Both Severus and Hermione had been grateful the integration had gone well— not only because they were something a little off from the normal scale of life but because grandchildren needed grandparents and in their own way, the grandparents needed grandchildren. The batlings needed to know the good side of humanity before they met the cruel sort, and the Grangers were ideally made for the role of mentor, role-model, and doing things the Muggle way.

Mr Granger had sneaked the batlings out on Halloween to pillage (and pay) for treats from the roaming ice cream van as well as taking them out for sweets. Everyone adored their "costumes" and the batlings enjoyed "fitting in" for a bit of fun, pranks, and general good times. John had purchased a gaming station for them to dinker with, and they even got him to play with them. The batlings would often dangle upside down while listening to their Muggle iPods, and invariably help their grandparents with the computer with disgusting adaptability. Talon had figured out how to program the DVR for Mrs Granger and program the remote to the new telly for Mr Granger. When a new device came in, Talon would sit there with the instruction booklet and read it backwards and forwards and have the thing up and running in a few minutes.

That had earned him an extra helping of custard with "breakfast."

Perhaps, Hermione speculated, not being limited to the most literal form of "life"was served them well. They had had a long time to puzzle over how different they were from what was standard "vampire" fare, and Severus had thought that their line craved life as the ultimate survivors— but what embodied that life was as varied as the person. The Longbottoms' craving for plant-blood and Minerva's hunger for all things that felines adored sort of proved that— that and the image of Minerva curled around a fresh salmon steak, hiss-screeching like someone was going to take a way her favourite catnip mouse.

No one wanted  _that_.

A soft bell rang, signalling guests at the door, and Mr Granger grunted as he attempted to get up out of the chair to answer it. "Guests at this hour? New Zealand never sleeps."

There were two parts to the garden in the Granger home: the fenced and the back runs with the shrubs and trees and other such things that didn't need protection from wandering munchers. Both places were equally well filled, but the fenced in area was more for the protection of privacy of the grandbats and their more exotic family.

Thanks to Neville and Luna, the back gardens were bustling with life, colour, and its own kind of living magic, even at night. During the day the colours and blooms were everywhere, but at night the evening flowers bloomed just as heartily, sending clouds of glowing pollen into the breezes. Mrs Granger had loved the new additions, and she would talk to Neville for hours about plants.

It was clear that the Grangers had filled something vital in Neville's life— something he'd never had with his blood relations. He called her Auntie, and Mrs Granger had not disapproved.

As Mr Granger struggled out of the comfortable garden lounge chair, Thea and Anemone pinned him down with their bodies, heads cocked and ears swivelling. Talon and Xanthe exchanged looks at each other.

"Don't answer the door, Grandad," Talon said, his head poised to look at the door. Xanthe and he tugged Mrs Granger away from the kitchen and further back into the garden. "That's not one of your neighbours."

Mr Granger took Mrs Granger into his arms. His wife picked up the phone and started dialing and then stared at the handset. "It's dead, John."

"Use the mobile," Mr Granger said.

She rushed to the desk where she had left her phone charging as strange ripping and clawing noises came from outside.

"I can  _smell_ you, you little brats," a distorted voice came through the nearby open window. A dark shape moved outside, but when something tried to poke into the open window, the wards that Severus had painstakingly crafted came to life and something inhuman  _screamed_.

Almost immediately, Apparates sounded off as Minerva and Neville showed up, their wings unfolded from their bodies like a living cape.

Minerva snarled, her feline face twisted into wrinkles and teeth. "Come, Mr and Mrs Granger. Children. We are leaving."

 **Crack**!

Luna arrived, taking the children under her pale wings.

"Is it a monster?" the children asked.

Neville's face hardened. "The  _worst_ kind— the monster who was once human. Go."

**Crack.**

**CrackCRACK!**

Minerva and Luna left with the batlings and the Grangers just as the desperate smashing sounds came from the front door. The door shuddered and splintered, blasting to pieces even as the great beast outside howled in agony as its body met the wards just inside.

Neville's face darkened, his pale membrane on his wings seeming almost translucent. His hand opened, and a glimmering shaft of silver formed as a pommel met his palm. His finger-talons closed around it as the Sword of Godric Gryffindor materialised into his hand as if made for it.

As the shade passed the door, he snarled, thrusting the sword in deep as his other hand whipped around and released a handful of small, innocuous looking pods.

There was a baleful cry from outside and thumping as Neville calmly walked out the door to find the monstrous disfigured  _un_ -unicorn-beast both impaled to the hilt by the Sword of Godric Gryffindor and covered with growing, writhing, tightening vines.

"Hello, Ginny," Neville said, his voice deep and sans the nervous quiver he was known by for so long. "I've had some words I've wanted to get off my chest since you sent those bloody anti-vampire fanatics to burn down my house with my pregnant wife still in it. She lost that first child, thanks to  _you_ — we lost our own lives because of you— at least the lives we would have had."

Neville's eyes were glowing a deep, pulsating red. "You  _used_ me while your real love was out there saving the world and throwing his best friend to Bellatrix Lestrange, dumping me the moment you realised he was still alive. Psh. Such shallow faith, even to Harry. That's okay, though— I met Luna again, and we had a happy life until the fire tried to take everything. Why? Because we knew Hermione was alive? Because she knew the truth and that meant she would have told  _us_ the truth?"

Neville stared at the beast as he pulled the sword out of her side and then slashed it down, cutting off her twisted horn and a part of her hooves in one slash. "Let me bring you up to speed, hrm? She told us nothing. She wanted us to be happy— carefree. You tried to have us murdered for  _ **NOTHING**_."

"Now," Neville said. "It took me a while to figure out it was you, Ginny. Even  _ **I**_  didn't think you were up to that. But— thanks to this little plant here—"

Neville pulled out a small, feather like frond. "I've discovered something better than Veritaserum. Your little cronies spilt their guts over who had paid them— something they would have been quite happy to do for free. Disgusting."

Neville's muzzle twisted into a sneer. He pulled out a crystal flask filled with crimson blood. "I have the perfect solution to everyone's woes."

He threw himself on Ginny's head and neck, shoving the opened flask to her muzzle and clamping her muzzle shut to force the liquid and the frond from the feather-like plant.

The beast's eyes went wide and wild, and she struggled against the vines without success. The crimson liquid flowed down her throat until the flask was empty.

"You can thank Snape for your cure, Ginny, but don't think he did it for you— he did it for our children, our families. Because when you wake up, all you will want to do is confess to every sin you've ever committed from the first time you shat your own nappy just after mummy changed it. Every single lie. Every last manipulation— even those so typical of adolescents. Your children will know you for who are you, as will everyone else. You will be the beast with a human face— the one hated even more than vampires. You see— this flask has the blood of every single vampire that remains in Britain. This is their gift to you."

Neville released her muzzle and let her head drop, taking the precious flask and tucking it away. "A long, long, mortal life with the truth."

The monster's eyes were wide with terror as Neville brandished the sword and curled his lips at her. "I do not murder— but for you I would make an exception for harming Luna and killing our unborn child. I think, however, that Hermione is right: better to let you live as you truly are than to live with myself after  _becoming_ you."

As the sirens started to wail in the neighbourhood, Neville stepped into the shadows and Disapparated with a sharp  _ **crack**_ **.**

* * *

_**Ginevra Potter Publishes Shocking Tell-All Memoir Of What** _

_**Really Happened During the Wizarding War** _

_The Wizarding World is still reeling following the greatly-anticipated release of Ginevra Potter's new tell-all book, The Monsters That We Made._

_Months of highly-controversial interviews of Mrs Potter have been conducted since she was found lying unconscious in a Brightwater back garden by New Zealand Muggle authorities. All the incriminating evidence (that was subsequently confirmed) were brought to the attention of the DMLE after Mrs Potter herself outlined key events in explicit detail: times, names, dates, and deeds._

_One of the main events that has earned Ginevra Potter a date before the Wizengamot is the support of her now-husband, Harry Potter, and her brother, Ronald Weasley, was the calculated sacrifice of their former best friend, Hermione Jean Granger, to the brutal hands of one of Riddle's most notorious Death Eaters, Bellatrix Lestrange, in order facilitate their own escape of Malfoy Manor._

_Incidentally, the Trio was initially captured after Mr Potter yelled aloud the chosen name of the Dark Lord Voldemort, despite having previously been warned that there was an active Taboo in place on that name at the time._

_The uncovering of such disturbing events at Malfoy Manor have now forced Mr Lucius Malfoy to stand trial over the actions of himself, his wife, and his son during the Wizarding war in addition to charges of harbouring the Dark Lord, supporting the brutal torture of a minor, Luna Lovegood, and a school-age Hermione Granger, who had yet to sit her N.E.W.T.s or complete her seventh year at Hogwarts (due to only purebloods being permitted to attend school at the time). Granger was also, along with Potter and Weasley, secretly working on a crucial task set them by former Headmaster Albus Dumbledore in the days prior to his death, one that would permit Tom Marvolo Riddle, the self-styled Dark Lord Voldemort, to be made fully mortal, ensuring that, following his demise, he would never be able to return and threaten our world again.._

_While the outcome of some or all of these activities may or may not have led up to the eventual defeat of the Dark Lord, it still does not cancel out the grim moral and ethical quandary of whether doing something very wrong, though allegedly for the right reasons, was acceptable in these cases. The war itself was caused by deeds done for as many supposedly justified reasons as those fighting it, it will be up to the Wizengamot to sort through the evidence and determine what appropriate action(s) should be taken._

_Meanwhile, in light of the accusations and supposed truths, Head Auror Harry Potter has been suspended until all matters have been addressed._

_The trials are set for next month, and the docket is full. Most of the items have been sealed until after trial due to the unique conditions surrounding both Ginevra Potter's past violent crimes and Harry Potter's suspected influence in allowing her to avoid Azkaban for her previous murders and spread of a violent transformative curse._

_Added to all of that is the public acknowledgement that Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were instrumental in the sacking of our previous Minister For Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, in order to pass their rather brutal new anti-vampirism laws in Britain. Which means that there is also an ongoing international manhunt for Ronald and Lavender Weasley as well as their two children, Rory and Liza, who have since disappeared after Ronald's treatment at St Mungo's after being bitten and mauled by his own sister. Rumour has it they have changed their names and fled to another country that is not aware of their true identity._

_Aurors have provided photographs and dossiers of the fugitive family to all Wizarding nations in the hopes of bringing them to justice._

_What this means for the children of both families remains uncertain., and depends on whether both parents are eventually convicted of war crimes._

* * *

_**Harry Potter and Wife, Ginevra, Choose Exile Over Azkaban** _

_After the months long trails, Harry Potter and his wife, Ginevra Weasley have chosen to leave Britain over serving time in Azkaban. Hours after the trial, the couples' children have been found in the care of their grandparents, Arthur and Molly Weasley, their old house empty and sold, and no trace of them having ever been in Britain._

_Due to the blurry circumstances of having ended the Wizarding War, the Potter family was given the choice of serving time in Azkaban for their parts in various war crimes or exile from Britain, for the period of ten years for each crime to be served consecutively._

_Some factions are declaring outrage at letting the Potters escape justice, while others seem to think that living in exile is hardly getting away with everything due to the stigma caused as word of their exploits spreads throughout Europe and beyond._

_Harry and Ginevra Potter, should they live that long, will be permitted back in Britain in one hundred and fifty years._

_Seeing as they had driven out all the amicable vampires from Britain, the chances of them returning in our lifetime is vanishingly small unless they discover the secret of Nicolas Flamel's philosopher's stone._

* * *

"And so the vampiric unicorn plague has finally ended," Kingsley said with a sniff, putting down the newspaper with a grim look. "There is some irony that they used Ginevra's blood to cure the affliction rather than making their own cure."

"Seems no British vampire cared to volunteer to help," Severus sighed, making a face as Minerva groomed the bengal-bat's ears. "Must you two be so insufferable snuggly?"

Minerva snorted, made all the more comical by her batcat form. "I'm quite enjoying having another batcat around to dangle with, thank you very much, Severus."

"You broke the no bites on the first date rule," Severus said, glowering.

"I was  _irresistible_ ,"Kingsley said cheekily. "That was a brilliant move on your part, Neville— making her into the antidote for all the victims— the truth frond was quite a beautiful touch."

Neville sipped his vegetable juice— or rather lapped at it with his long tongue in the glass. "I feel as though I avoided murder and went for justice."

"I do feel a bit sorry for Molly and Arthur," Luna said, sinking her fangs into a juicy pear. The pear shrivelled into almost nothing as she drained it of all fluid. "They've been raising children since they were barely out of Hogwarts."

Hermione sipped a goblet of crimson liquid, somehow making it look dainty. "It does make you wonder where Ronald and Lavender are with their children. I don't imagine either likes the idea of living unmagically and unobtrusively as possible."

"As far from us as they possibly can," Severus said. "If they are wise."

"Ron was not really known for being wise," Hermione said thoughtfully.

" _ **I'm**_  wise!" Xanthe crowed, stealing her sister's juice.

Anemone glared at her, pointed her ears at her, and they lit up with magic and sent her tumbling off her juice. She snatched it up and drank it greedily.

"Not wise enough, child," Kingsley said with a deep chuckle.

"And how are my favourite grandbats in the entire world?" Mr Granger asked as he flew in from the cave with his surprisingly nimble, dusty-coloured mate.

All the batlings squeaked with excitement as they launched at them both, having adopted them as grandparents regardless of their original birth mothers.

Mrs Granger shrugged, her pale wings glistening from what looked like an evening dip in the lake. "Regretting your new lifestyle?" she asked her husband who was covered from head to toe in happy batling wing-hugs. She looked down to see Talon hugging her side, having chosen her as his most favoured clinging target. She scooped him up and cuddled him, rubbing muzzles against his. He pegged her a few times with his tongue and laughed when she tickled him.

"I'm really glad you decided to stay with us," Talon said with a toothy smile.

Helen Granger smiled fondly at her grandpup. "I'm glad to be here, love."

"And we are glad to have you as well," Severus said with an arched brow. "Despite what some others might say."

Neville tried to pry Anemone off of Mr Granger with no avail. The batling had a tight wing-grip on her uncle and wouldn't let go. He gave Severus a  _look_ , and the Potions Master quirked one side of his mouth.

Twin batcat kittens zoomed over, one chasing the other who had a nice, juicy-looking fish in its mouth.

Severus sighed. "We will definitely need to expand the cave."

Luna smiled. "Neville is already working on an excellent plan for a new phosphorescent cave garden with flying passages surrounded in aquatic ecosystems!"

"Oh?" Severus replied.

Luna beamed proudly. "Aquariums are quite relaxing, don't you think? Phosphorescent gardens would add a great opportunity for plenty of creativity underground, and the gardens will use our neighbours' plentiful guano to fertilise our plants. We might even get a few visiting Crumple-Horned Snorkacks!"

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and smiled. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Luna. Why don't we females take the batlings for their evening fly and can leave the males to discuss Quidditch, home planning, and convoluted tunnels to strange places?"

The batlings squeaked with pure happiness as the two batkittens slammed into Hermione with glee.

Minerva, Luna, Helen Granger, and Hermione chuckled together, spread their wings, and zoomed out their living quarters, out in the cave, and then into the night beyond—four excited batlings and two batkittens following their beloved adults into the evening sky.

* * *

_Dear William,_

_I know it's been years now, dear, but we'd really like to put behind us what happened after the trials for Harry, Ron, and Ginny._

_I know you thought it was pretty horrible of us to have them move out with Charlie and build new lives in Romania, but it wasn't our Ginny's fault that she was turned into a monster! She wasn't in control when she was changed. And Ron was attacked—_

_They've paid for their mistakes! They're good people, and they didn't deserve to be blamed for actions that were taken during a war. It was_ _**war** _ _, William! They did what they had to in order to to survive!_

_Look, your father and I would like you to move back to Britain to be closer to the family. At least when you were living in Cornwall, you were taking care of Aunt Tessie's place._

_The grandchildren all ask about your hand on the family clock. They want to know where unplottable is and I honestly don't know quite what to tell them. Come home, William. The grandchildren need to see more of their family. Your father's so very tired of these long stretches of silence._

_Please, please come home._

_Your loving mother_

* * *

_Dear mum,_

_I noticed you made no mention of my wife and children, only the wish to have me home. Do you want me to come press my face to your bosom and beg your forgiveness for choosing a good life with Fleur and our children? I will not. I will not come "home"for that place hasn't been my home in decades._

_Do not attempt to manipulate me with etudes about father, when I know full well that he has been forced to work night and day to take care of your grandchildren even when he would far rather be retired by now. If not for the terrible actions of their parents, those children would have a mother and a father, and on a more serious note, had they not survived the war because they refused to sacrifice their friends for that damnable greater good, this situation would be moot anyway._

_Fleur and I will never return to Britain after what my sister and her husband did in the persecution of some of my dearest friends, and in that, I can live with a clear conscience._

* * *

"Victoire," Fleur admonished. "Stop hanging upside-down and come eat dinner with us. You're far too old to be pretending to be a bat."

Fleur and Bill's daughter pouted and vaulted off the place she was sharing with her friends and rushed to the table. The batlings exchanged shrugs and flew down to join everyone for dinner.

"Still getting mail from the matriarch?" Severus said, passing the salad bowl to Bill.

Bill sighed. "She doesn't give up. Even this many years after the entire 'If you don't support our family then you're not family anymore' tirade."

"She never expected you to actually stand by your beliefs?"

"Stand by my friends, no." He gave Severus a grim smile. "She's always taught me to stand by my beliefs, but she always assumed they would be the same as hers. Father— he has to live with her. He may not agree, but he feels if he stands up and makes a fuss then it will harm the broken tatters they have left of the family."

Hermione frowned. "That doesn't sound like much of a family if it's only hanging by a thread."

"Oui," Fleur agreed. "It iz quite the messed up."

Hermione grinned at Fleur. "You have such a way of saying things, Fleur."

"I'm French," she replied, smiling cheekily. "It iz genetic."

Hermione smiled at her, passing over a dish of Fleur's favourite summer rice salad.

"Ahh, you know ekzactly what I like, 'ermione!" Fleur announced happily, saluting her with the serving spoon as she served up some of the rice, corn, tomato, and tuna onto her plate.

As the food finished going around, and the various glasses filled with the necessary "supplement drinks," Bill rose a glass in toast. "To the friends proven during and after adversity and the family we choose for ourselves."

They all rose their glasses together.

" _Mère_ , whatever happened to James, Albus, and Lily?"

"Or Rory and Liza?" Louis asked.

"I'm surprised you haven't heard about them at work, Victoire."

"The French Ministry is not much interested in British affairs," Victoire said with a sniff. "And it is old news, so it is no longer whispered about."

Bill sighed. "Grandma Molly took in James, Albus, and Lily. Wouldn't let anyone else 'ruin' them. Lily's still living at the Burrow, but James left Britain for the States as soon as he was old enough and Albus is working with your Uncle Percy at the Ministry. Rory and Liza are still living in Romania with your Uncles Ronald and Harry and your Aunt Ginny and Lavender— training as clandestine dragon apprentices under your Uncle Charlie."

Victoire tilted her head in thought. "I'm not sure if that sounds quite as wonderful as I imagined when I was a child."

"Your imagination was always too big for your skull, missy," Bill teased, giving his eldest daughter a rap on the head.

She grinned up at him.

Bill smiled. "They aren't lauded as almighty heroes anymore, but they're doing well enough for themselves. The British Ministry, at least, has managed to fix a lot of the more corruptible elements in the making of laws, and hopefully things will continue to improve. Change, however, takes a great deal of time in Wizarding affairs, as we all should know by now."

Victoire and Louis shook their heads in agreement. "Dominique says they are all a bunch of blithering dunderheads at the Ministry."

Severus snorted as Kingsley gave him a look across the table.

"Some are, most assuredly," Kingsley agreed.

Fleur waved her hand imperiously. "Time for food and pleasant conversation. We all know better than to talk Ministry at the dinner table."

There was light laughter as they all shared stories from their day and a good meal together.

* * *

As the young batlings and batcats whispered together in the dark, they carefully packed a box of assorted fresh fruit, homemade preserves, filched shortbread fingers, sweets, sea salt, exotic saffrons, tonics, and a seemingly random Muggle game. They stuffed the empty spaces with soft fibre and placed a hand-quilled letter on top before closing the box and sealing it with a flash of magic.

The conspirators giggled together and hushed themselves, lowering their heads and cocking their ears to make sure no one else was listening in. Sighing with relief, they called over the "family owl" who looked at them with a rotated, curious hoot.

"Shh, Thérèse, don't be so loud," they admonished the bird.

They carefully tied twine around the box and shrank the box down so the owl could carry it without concern.

"Okay, Thérèse, take this to Arthur Weasley, and don't be seen, okay?"

The owl hooted, giving them a look that seemed to say, "really? This is me you're asking, after all."

They gave the owl an extra large frog leg and the owl downed it quickly. She hopped onto the shrunken box and carried it off into the night.

"I hope he likes it!" Ailsa whispered, grooming her cat ears with one wing.

Thea and Talon nodded in agreement. "It sounds like he needs a good pick me up," Thea said.

Ailsa and Alasdair nodded together, their ears flicking in unison.

"It must be really hard working all the time so you can't even see your family much," Talon said. "He's not a vampire either, so he's probably lots slower and way more achy. Father's special tonic should help soothe his aches and pains."

"The game will help his spirits," Thea said. "Uncle Bill said that he really likes Muggle things."

"Maybe, when Lily is finally out of Hogwarts, he'll be able to visit Uncle Bill and they won't be so sad anymore."

The batlings and batkittens squeaked together in agreement, assured that this would indeed be the case.

"It must be odd having only a short childhood," Ailsa said rather doubtfully. "It doesn't sound like they ever get to play enough."

Alasdair shrugged. "Humans are always in a rush to get somewhere fast."

"They don't have forever to figure things out like we do," Talon said thoughtfully.

Thea wing-tugged her fellow conspirators. "Let's all go to bed before mum and dad find us and start asking questions we don't want to answer."

The quartet squeaked together as they snuck back into their rookery, flipped upside down to dangle, folded their wings around themselves, and prompted began to saw squeaky (and mewing) logs together.

Meanwhile, Hermione snuggled into her mate's warm wing as she closed her eyes, content that while her children were up to something, they always had their hearts in the right places— the perfect balance of Slytherin and Gryffindor.

As Severus' warm wing pulled her closer, he grumbled into her mane of headfur. "Did they find the box and potions without destroying the lab?"

Hermione snuggled into his neck. "Mmhmm."

Severus gave his mate a tender lick. "You are Slytherin, hermione. You've lost your red and gold and gone for green and silver."

Hermione snorted into his fur. "Don't make me bite you."

Severus purr-rumbled, delicately taking her neck with his teeth and nibbling.

Hermione proceeded to nibble on him right back as they snuggled together, dangling in unison as sleep claimed them both.

* * *

"Welcome home, dad," Bill said as he set down his father's valise and bundles of random Muggle games and toys, doodads, thingamajigs, and a gazillion action figures.

Arthur Weasley, now nearly ninety years old and finally retired with no kids, grandkids, or a tether to some forced responsibility, gratefully sat down on their large, comfortable sofa and let out an enthusiastic sigh.

"I thought I'd  _never_ say this back in the day, but I'm so glad to be home somewhere far away from Ottery St Catchpole," Arthur said with profound feeling and unmistakable relief.

"We're glad you finally took us up on the offer, Arthur," Fleur said with a warm smile. There was a touch of silver now in her pale blonde hair, but she looked every bit as beautiful as she'd always been.

Arthur rolled his head on the top of the plush cushion. "I finally feel free to do something for myself. With Molly walling herself up in the Burrow like it's her own private castle— she managed to make  _me_ feel like a stranger. I slept there at night, caught a meal or two, and then worked—"

"I did love her, my Mollywobbles," he sighed. "She just—I don't know, turned into something I no longer recognised as the woman I knew. Maybe I worked too much, forgot who I was with. Maybe we forgot each other. I'm not sure. But I do know that once the kids were all out on their own, we were like two strangers."

"You barely saw each other once you started having to work so hard to take care of all of us," Bill said. "Only, it never got better for you. You never stopped having kids."

"You sure you're good with me having this place?" Arthur said, his amazement growing as he looked around him.

"We set it up just for you, dad," Bill said. "Fleur and I have our own place."

"I'd always imagined you in France," Arthur said, boggling. "But this place has some pretty gorgeous views."

"Welcome to New Zealand," Bill said. "The kids will teach you the best bug -zapping spells for the evenings. The mosquitoes and other bugs are ruddy pachyderm-sized around here."

Arthur looked rather excited at the prospect of gargantuan insects.

"We made up the bed so you can get some decent sleep, dad," Bill said. "You can meet and greet the others after you get settled in."

"Having a lie-in?  _ **Me**_?"

"Yes, you," Bill said, amused.

"I'm not sure I even remember how." Arthur stared upward at the rafters.

Bill shook his head as his father was fast asleep on the couch. He pointed his wand at him and floated him towards his bed, traded his robes for pyjamas and slid him under the covers. "Night, dad,"he said softly.

As he closed the door, Bill shook off the glamour and unfolded his wings from his body and took Fleur into his embrace. She let out a soft squeak of protest that wasn't really fooling anyone.

"Do you think your father— will he be okay with vampires and Veela?" Fleur asked.

"I think when he meets the batlings and batkittens, all his doubts about true nature of the vampire will go straight out the window," Bill said. "It will wait for later, however. Let him regain his zeal for life. Save the life-altering choices for when he remembers what truly gives him life. Let my mum's overbearing, hovering presence start to fade a little. It took me some time to get out from under her vast shadow."

Fleur smiled at him. "You did fine. Father will do fine too."

Bill gave his mate a snuggle. "Let's go home, love."

The pair let themselves out the door, closed it behind them and launched into the night sky, chasing each other home.

* * *

Harry wiped his brow as the funeral service ended. It had been a beautiful ceremony, and the speaker had honoured her memory in a flattering light despite all the drama that had followed her throughout life. He had crawled out of hiding to go with Charlie to Molly's funeral, and so much time had passed that few if any people recognised them anymore.

All of his black hair had turned into a salt and pepper mop, and his skin was dark and weathered now thanks to half a lifetime working with Charlie and the dragons day in and day out. It was a far cry from being an Auror, and far less glamourous. It paid well enough that they never went hungry, but with three children to support they never had excess like they did when they were both working lucrative jobs in the spotlight as Britain's loveable heroic darlings.

When they had chosen exile, he and Ginny had gotten an owl from Ron and Lavender to join them with Charlie in Romania. While dragon-training was hardly his first choice of new career, nearly all other options were closed him. What money he could spare he sent to Molly and Arthur to help with the kids, and he had the feeling Ginny felt put out that none of it could be used to go out once in a while.

Now that the children were grown up and had flown from the Burrow, he and Ginny had a few knuts to rub together, and they used it all to smuggle themselves back into Britain without setting off the alarms to attend Molly Weasley's funeral.

She'd lived a long life for a witch, though towards the end, she'd always asked about Arthur as though she were a witch of twenty once again. No one had heard from Arthur after Molly's great verbal explosion that Xenophilius had claimed he'd heard from his home back in the day. No one was sure exactly what was said, but whatever it was it had driven Arthur away for good. All attempts at locating him had failed, at least according to Percy, who had spent quite a bit trying to find his father to get his parents back together again. All attempts to move Molly out of Britain so they could be closer to her had met with failure.

As Harry turned to take Ginny's arm and fade back into the crowd, he startled as he saw someone who looked a lot like Arthur placing flowers on the grave of Molly Weasley.

Flowers— English bluebells, to be precise. Molly's favourite.

He didn't look a day over what Muggles would call sixty.

As Harry rushed forward to confront him, a group of attendees walked in front of his path, passing just long enough to break away from his line of sight.

Harry boggled.

He was gone. Whoever the man was, he  _couldn't_ have been Arthur himself— perhaps a distant relative that may have lived out of the country? The man looked younger than he was— more like the memory of him than the age Molly had been.

He stared down at the bluebells.

They were in a magicked pot— a unique bouquet of  _living_ plants.

Ron had always said that neither his mum or his dad had a green thumb unless you counted the time his father had accidentally covered himself in green Muggle house paint. Odd that. He'd expect such things from someone like Neville—

His mind was surely playing tricks on him.

Thankfully, unless you considered the children, the tell-tale sea of red was no longer quite as obvious as it used to be, and their identities were easily concealed. They still couldn't go out and enjoy their visit to Britain, not even the Muggle areas, thanks to the exile.

Ron had voiced constantly that it was no way to treat the bloke who had saved the bloody world, but Harry had known from the very moment they had covered up Hermione's unwilling "sacrifice" that they had all started down the slippery road to perdition.

Had they confessed to it, even regretted it, and did their very best absolve Snape of any wrongdoing in saving her life then maybe things would have gone differently.

Instead, they had viciously persecuted Snape for being a "monster", and Hermione as being the newly infected pariah-spawn of the greasy git. They'd stirred up the vampire-hating hunters and those who simply lusted after the rich pot of bounty galleons, driving the entire populace of British vampires even deeper underground than before.

And for what?

To keep their reputations clean?

To make the world think they had nobly ended the war without sacrifice?

To make everyone think they were somehow better than everyone else in that they didn't make the mistakes that other lowly mortals made?

Maybe it had been the grand parties and the sudden social elevation that had sealed their damnation: the fat contracts to promote the finest racing broom lines, the best seats at any major sporting events, and the shameless grovelling at their feet. Ginny had greatly enjoyed the clothes, the "samples", the "free" items that many hoped to catch her wearing out and about for sheer the promotion value.

Perhaps, had they saved the money they made off of such things, they'd have survived the exile with much more to spare. Perhaps, had he not spent so much trying to save Ginny from "the disease"-

Then again, had he not, she could have died, and his heart told him adamantly that no price was too great to save her life— his wife and the mother of his children.

The children he didn't even get to raise to adulthood.

Had he known of the eventual outcome, would he have done the same?

Could he have worked towards forgiveness with Hermione and thus have had a way to save Ginny's life long before everything had fallen to pieces?

Harry frowned.

The truth was grim.

Harry had truly believed they couldn't have saved Hermione at the time. They hadn't stood a chance against Bellatrix Lestrange. Unlike in the movies where the hero or heroine tells the other to leave without them for the greater good, Hermione had been screaming for help— any help. Her agony had been more than real.

But in that moment when choices were made, they had decided escaping without notice was better than having a brassed off Bellatrix knowing what they had done.

So they left her in Bellatrix's merciless hands and escaped with Dobby, Ollivander, and Luna.

Luna had told them the moment they arrived at Shell Cottage that Bellatrix was going to make Hermione's torture long and enjoyable— that being her personal enjoyment of causing as much pain as she could. He should, if she were him, have sent Dobby to rescue her too.

But then Ron had made the point that Dobby could Apparate them anywhere— risking Dobby would risk their success.

It had made sense.

It  _had_.

Dobby could get them into Gringotts. Dobby could take them to safety in the blink of an eye. Dobby could get them in and out of Hogwarts if they needed it.

Late that evening, Luna had sadly said that Hermione was no longer amongst the living, so the drive to save her had fallen to the wayside for more important things. They'd had Dobby teleport them directly into the Lestrange family vault—

Only to find bloody Bellatrix waiting for them.

She'd gleefully buried them alive in replicating objects and had just been ready to kill them both when Hermione had seemingly pulled herself up out of the ground, snarled, and tore Bellatrix to shreds after draining the Dark witch completely dry.

" _Hermione?!" Harry exclaimed, staring in horror at the pale-faced witch. Her human face was changing before their eyes, the blood meal having triggered a sort of grotesque transformation. Her female face jerked and then twisted into a bat-like muzzle. Her eyes were drained of the normal colour, replaced with a white and almost gold and and a shade of red so deep it was almost black._

_She let out a shrill screech of anger— or was it hunger?- as wings tore open and spread out from her back. Bones and blood flexed and grew as membrane pulled between the bones, forming into batlike wings. Her rapidly changing body burst out of the remainder of her ragged clothing even as her hands and feet twisted, grew, realigned, and distorted._

_SCREEEEEE!_

_She leapt at them, fangs bared, her eyes hungry, claws so very razor sharp._

" _Hermione!" a deep voice commanded, intermingled with a deep, pulsing screeee._

_A giant, black man-bat emerged out of the ground as he took one talon and ripped it across his wrist. Crimson dripped from it._

_The hungry Hermione turned towards the fresh blood and practically fell upon him, lapping at his offering with a hunger so vast Harry could feel his stomach churn with it._

_Harry watched in horror as the black bat's face twisted into a look of elation, his curled lips stretching across yellowed fangs. Meanwhile, Hermione lapped at the wound he had made, making soft sounds of hunger and need._

_The black bat glowered at Harry and Ron with n othing short of venom and disgust._

" _You are pathetic, Potter," he growled, and it was Snape's v oice m ixed with that unearthly other-ness. "It is because of her that you will win this war, for she has single-handedly drained dry every last Death Eater that accompanied Bellatrix to Gringott's, leaving not a single drop of blood between them, all in her waking, clawing herself to life hunger. Only her hatred for them eclipsed her hatred for the two of you for leaving her to die in agony."_

" _I led you to the sword. I left you the bags of supplies and food, and what did you do? You didn't even share it with her, did you, boy? Then, you had to stupidly call out the name of the Dark Lord, calling his ire upon you like the typhoon. It is because of YOU that the group was caught. It was because of YOU that she was tortured, weakened with hunger to the point where resisting torture was hardly even an option. Take your tainted goblet from the shelf and go, but know this, Mr Potter. At the end of this war, the truth will out, or so help me you will heartily wish that it had. Tell your sycophants the truth. Do this, and maybe kharma may take pity on you, for it will not be me who comes to visit in the dark of night should you fail in this."_

_Snape, curling his lips over his teeth, took Hermione into his embrace. The hunger was, ever so slightly, e asing. "And if you're are very lucky, it will not be her, for I have no doubt that when she regains her mind again, her first memories of you will not be great ones."_

" _You turned her into a MONSTER!" Ron spat, struggling against the burial of objects._

_Snape's eyes were as black as pitch and as fathomless as the Abyss. "I put a stopper on her death, Mr Weasley, and gave her a choice of evils. She chose mine over the hell you ordered for her." With that, the vampire wrapped his great wings around Hermione and disappeared with a crack._

Harry flushed as he remembered the horrifying first sight of Hermione after they had so callously thrown her to the wolves. He, Ron, and Ginny— they had all worked very hard to bury the ugly truth and make sure Snape and Hermione were far too busy avoiding bounty hunters to make any trouble for them. A small part of him had begun to regret it, but when Ginny had become so happy and loving and their first child was on the way— he just couldn't find it within himself to jeopardize that.

Kharma, as Snape had warned him and Luna Lovegood had seconded, had finally come knocking.

Ron said that they should have done more to make sure all the mudslinging couldn't touch them, but after so many years of working hard with no end in sight— much of it having become harder due to encroaching old age— Harry started to think that may he should have recognised Ginny's illness for what it was: a warning to come clean. Maybe Ginny would have protested, but she'd be alive and well, and maybe they wouldn't have lost custody of their own children.

"Hullo, Harry Potter," an achingly familiar voice said. It sounded as it always had— frozen in time just as she had been.

"Hermione," Harry said, his eyes widening.

Hermione stood, bushy mane of hair and all, wrapped in a dark cloak that made her look like she was in mourning. Ironically, she looked like she fit in better dressed in all black than Harry did with his own makeshift clothing choices. Her brown eyes— no longer drained and hungry— eyed him with what could only be utter detachment.

"Living on the edge, are you? Seeing who will notice you and who will not?"

Harry panicked a little, wondering if others had heard her speak his name, but no one seemed to notice— they didn't even seem to notice Hermione either. His hand gripped around his wand reflexively, wondering if she would attack, if he could even defend himself, and what would happen should anyone realise who he was.

Hermione turned to face Molly's grave. "This is a  _sacred_ place, Harry. Even the lowest bottom feeder of vampire kind would never attack someone here. Vampires at least. Humans, of course, do horrible things anywhere that they wish."

Harry winced at the jab. "What do you want from me, Hermione?"

"Me?" Hermione laughed, a slight flash of fang in her smile. "Don't be daft, Harry. I don't want anything but for you to live a long, long life."

Harry eyed her with frank suspicion.

Hermione gave him a serene smile. "Growing old is a very expected human past time, Harry. Wizarding blood makes for remarkably long lives. Perhaps not as long as mine— but long enough. Long enough to respect the days back when better choices could have been made at the very least."

"Are you here to gloat?" harry asked.

Hermione's eyes flashed. "No, Harry. I'm far beyond gloating. I've moved right on to doing the best thing I could possibly do to spite your betrayal."

"Have me assassinated?"

Hermione scoffed. "Please. No, Harry. I plan to live a long, happy, wonderful in spite of everything you did to me."

A child, maybe in her early teens, glomped Hermione about the waist. "Mummy, can we go to Fortescue's for ice cream, please?"

Hermione's expression softened. "Of course, as long as your father is okay with it."

"He said to ask you and he'd agree to whatever you said."

Hermione arched a brow and shook her head. "Find your brother and the batkittens, otherwise there will be no living with them."

"But they'll want anchovy ice cream. Blech!" the child said with a delicate shudder.

"You don't have to eat it."

"But I have to  _smell_ it, mummy!" the teen complained.

Hermione gave her a fond stroke on the head. "Shoo. Go get your cloudmates and stay with your father."

"Yay!" the child said, giving her mother another hug and then dashing off— the hint of leathery wings behind her— so fast it was hard to see if it was really there.

"You— have  _ **children?!"**_  Harry blurted, his eyes very wide.

"Of course I have children, Harry," Hermione tutted, using one finger to brush her mane back around her ear. "When two people love each other very much, children do tend to come afterwards."

" _ **But you're a bloody vampire!"**_  he protested.

Harry suddenly found himself being stared at. Many, many eyes were staring at them now. Hermione, however, was gone. Not a trace of her existed in the crowd anywhere to be seen.

Harry swore, realising he'd just done a first-rate job of outing himself, hurriedly grabbed Ginny's arm and rushed away from the grave of Molly Weasley as fast as he could.

The flash of brown uniforms and multiple cracks of Apparition signalled the arrival of Aurors, but Harry Potter, his wife, Ron, and Lavender were already gone.

Meanwhile, under the shade of a very large black umbrella, the vampire cloud watched their batlings and batkittens sharing ice cream (phoenix fruit fantasy for the Snape and Longbottom children and anchovy and cream for the Shacklebolt kits) as they giggled and laughed together — cheering at getting to "stay up late" and have ice cream like "humans did."

As Minerva leaned into Kingsley, Luna into Neville, Hermione into Severus, Helen Granger against John Granger, and Arthur leaning back in his comfy chair staring up at the fluffy white clouds with a pair of Muggle sunglasses on, life was looking  _very_ grand indeed.

Hidden on the wall, plastered there by a permanent sticking charm, an old Prophet page announced:

_**Vampires Welcome Again in Britain!** _

_**But They Haven't Been Seen… Yet** _

* * *

 

 **A/N:**  HEA! Yay! (Well for most of them) Big thanks to The Dragon and the Rose for tolerating my shenanigans and brain derailments. Classes start in a few weeks. Save me! *whimper*

Spiders whispering together: You know what the next story needs?

Blue spider: Moar spiderweb?

Red spider: Well, yeah that…

Purple spider: More spiders!

Black spider:  _ **Ob-**_ viously.

All spiders turn to the black spider and look at him suspiciously before they all raise their front legs in a cheer.

_**Horray!** _


End file.
